Wired - Douglas E. Richards [2]
They were on the road minutes later. Kira was at the wheel and Callan sat in the passenger seat with his gun trained on her. The sun had set a few hours earlier, but despite the darkness the roads were still fairly active. A crescent moon hung in the still night sky, and the typical Southern California assortment of tropical flowers and palms made steady appearances outside the windshield, a living testament to a growing season and a summer that never seemed to end.
“Where are we going?” asked Kira finally, breaking a long silence.
“You’ll know when we get there,” said Callan.
“How did you learn my true identity?”
“This isn’t twenty questions.”
“Look, I paid you well and you’re obviously selling me out in return. The least you could do is answer a few question. What’s the big deal?”
Callan considered for several seconds and then shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “Why not. I never bought your bullshit story from the start. Your driver’s license and credit cards are flawless, but I dug a little and became certain you were using a false identity. This intrigued me. Not many people have fake documents and superficial histories as good as yours.” He paused. “Then I got lucky. I found a crumpled United Airlines luggage tag inside the outer pocket of your suitcase, with the name Kira Miller scribbled on it in pencil.” He pointed ahead to the next intersection. “Turn left here,” he said.
Kira did as instructed. “So how did you go from finding a luggage tag to abducting me at gunpoint?”
“I made some public inquiries into Kira Miller’s background,” he explained, “and let it be known I had stumbled onto information that might lead me to you. It was a fishing expedition. I baited my hook with your name and waited for an interested party to bite. I had no idea I’d be catching Moby fucking Dick,” he said in amazement, shaking his head as if still unable to believe his good fortune. “The government contacted me almost immediately. They told me you were a fugitive and warned me you were highly dangerous.” Callan glanced down at his bloody shirt and decided he should have taken their warning more seriously. “They wouldn’t tell me anything more, but they offered me a massive finder’s fee if I could bring you to ground.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a broad, self-satisfied smile. “After a little negotiation, we settled on two million dollars.”
Kira shook her head in disgust. “You’re an idiot, Bill. Did you consider they were lying about being with the government?”
He smiled. “Of course. But I don’t really give a shit who they are and why they’re after you. So long as I get paid.”
“What if they’re lying about the money also?” pressed Kira.
“After I convinced them I could find you, they wired half a million into my numbered account as a gesture of good faith. A half million bucks buys a lot of credibility.”
“So this is just about money?” she said in contempt. “Betraying a client. Killing Jason in cold blood. With absolutely no idea of what’s really going on or what’s at stake.”
“What the fuck did you expect!” he snapped. “That’s the very definition of the word mercenary for Christ’s sake: someone who’s just in it for the money.”
“I thought you guys had some sort of code.”
Callan laughed. “Not for two million dollars we don’t.” He shook his head irritably. “And spare me your preaching. You’re not innocent. Innocent people don’t have flawlessly forged identities. And innocent people who feel threatened hire bodyguards. Guilty people hire mercenaries.”
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” said Kira bitterly. “But you’re wrong. You’re in way over your head, Bill. You’re playing with fire. The people who contacted you aren’t from the government. And you’re never going to see the rest of that money. In fact, no matter what else happens, you’re a